


Dark Dreams

by Xobit



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Consensual, Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Phone Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:37:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2712539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xobit/pseuds/Xobit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Optimus dearly wishes he could control his dreams, Soundwave is baffled, Megatron is planning things...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Dark Dreams (中文版)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3887293) by [interburstgap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/interburstgap/pseuds/interburstgap)



> Collaboration with DA artist Murr-Miay
> 
> Her fantastic art:  
> http://xobit.deviantart.com/art/Dark-Dreams-357286063

_“No, don’t…” he could never fight it, no matter how afraid he was. The large chassis overshadowing him, the thick spike invading him… the pleasure he did not want. It was inescapable, immediate. Everything he secretly wanted, but not like this._

_“Shut up!” the growl and the words were just as he knew them, both were things that had been thrown at him time and again on the battle field._

_His left leg was lifted, a large black hand holding it tight, to the point of pain, under the knee joint. It was bend back and up towards his side, narrow back hips pulling back and then snapping forward. His back bowed and a cry left him, the spike seated deep inside him once again._

_If he could only offline his optics! Or imagine someone else above him… or something… this was torture, and what was worse was that it was created by his own mind._

_He had even gone to Ratchet and had had the medic scan him for a virus, just on the off chance, but there had been nothing to find._

_The mech above him made a gutteral noise, thrusts picking up and he felt himself near the edge of overload. It would be over soon…_

_Harder, faster, more… more and more and…_

Optimus sat up, vents whirring frantically hands instinctively sweeping down over his front until they met the sticky slowly cooling mess that was the result of his dream. 

Shame shimmered hot and deep inside him, he offlined his optics, gulping nervously. How could he be doing this to himself?

It had been one thing back in the orn of his youth, when he had just… not really existed. When Megatron had been an abstract, an idea. Maybe an ideal. 

But he was fully adult now! He knew of all the atrocities the mech had done, in detail and on his own chassis! He should not be having wet dreams like this, nightmares and… and especially not the _other_ kind of dreams he had. 

Megatron was a monster… a being that needed to be caught and locked away. Not… 

His hands curled into fists when his half pressurized spike twitched with interest. Shame burned a little brighter and he fought back the sob that choked his vocalizer. This was just… just a thing, nothing important. 

But Primus! He wished he was fixating on someone else… anyone else. Frag he’d take Sentinel over this! But Sentinel was just not… well, not…

Not Megatron…

* * *

“Weak little Autobot,” the sneer made him hot, but not with embarrassment or anger. 

Pushed into the ground by a much bigger and heavier chassis would leave anyone with stuttering ventilation fans and staticky moans of pain. But his heat and his moan was not entirely born out of those reasons only. 

“I have a name, Megatron, and I am not _weak_ ,” he did his best to snarl back, jerking his left arm back and up, sinking his elbow joint into the small gap between Megatron’s lower chest plating and his abdominal armor. 

The grunt of the other’s response was more felt than heard and Optimus bit his lower derma to keep the responding moan in. He no longer had the excuse of someone smothering him with weight to let it free. 

His chassis had no such rains on it and he could feel the fluids behind his panel slouch, far too liquid for his peace of processer. One of these orn he would start leaking from his panel during one of their fights… 

“Getting overconfident are we, _Autobot_ ,” he only narrowly ducked large black fist aimed at his helmet, cussing himself, his chassis and his oh so misguided libido out. They were fighting! He was trying to stay alive and undamaged.

Right now Megatron was _toying_ with him!

Swallowing a heated whimper he collected himself as best he could. 

“Never with you, Megatron!” only when the words were out did he realize that they were a compliment of sorts. If he did not have to fight for his life he might just have gone to find a sturdy wall to bang his helmet against… 

Luckily for him, so to speak, the Decepticons got whatever it was they wanted and retreated before more than a few blows could fall and be deflected. 

A sub vocal groan left him and he turned to his team, fighting to get a few encouraging words out before they left for their temporary home. He was the dirtiest of them and retreated to their wash racks as soon as he could be alone there. 

Shamefully he opened his panel, burrowing three fingers as deep in his valve as they would go. Getting himself off was as businesslike as he could make it… as he tried keeping out any thoughts of large black hands.

Or Primus forbid it, a large, thickly ridged silver spike…

* * *

_“All of this…” the dark hand opened turning so that the palm was upwards and the spread fingers pointed towards the labyrinthine city of Kaon, “can be yours,” the voice whispered into his audio receptor, warm dermas brushing across the sensitive component, “if you will just accept me.”_

_Optimus shuddered, caught again in a dream he did not want. Caught in a warm, one armed embrace and feelings he wished so badly to purge. He tried to speak, to tell dream Megatron that he did not want Kaon, did not want him! But it was no use…_

_“Just one word, young Prime, just a ‘yes’,” Megatron would never speak like this to him… not in a million vorn. Never offer this, never offer him anything! And he did not want anything from him, never… never…_

_He was pushed a little, taking a small step forward in reaction, his hands lifting but not to push away, instead his hands gripped the railing before him and his body arched back into the heat of his companion._

“Optimus,” _he whimpered, chassis pushing back further as the heat began to dissipate. That did not sound like~_

“Optimus!”

He sat up abruptly, nearly butting helmets with a grim looking Ratchet. Uh oh…

“You were having some sort of memory purge, Optimus, care to tell me what it was about?” the dark optics of the medic seemed… too knowledgeable. But he was pretty sure that he could not know, hoped he did not know.

“Just… just that movie Sari showed us…” he dodged the question, and technically it was true. Though it had hardly shown to end like said movie had. 

“The Labyrinth? How could that… that…” the old medic spluttered and Optimus ducked, he heard the mirth that his friend tried to cover with annoyance.

“I don’t know, somewhere along the way it just turned into a nightmare,” he left it at that and Ratchet accepted it, with a shake of his helmet. All that mattered was that the medic left for his own berth again. 

Even if it left him uncomfortably awake on his berth, whispers of false memories making his plating feel hot. 

If only he knew how to stop it!

* * *

“Autobot inferior!” Soundwave stated to himself as he carried the smallest of the offline mechs to his new machine. They had been surprisingly easy to bring down, something he was not sure if he should be so very confident about. 

Their first encounter had certainly given him a permanent kink in his armor. Superiority was earned, not taken… he had pondered long on how he could get back into lord Megatron’s good graces and proving that he was better than the Autobots, good enough to bring them to the silver warlord as his new soldiers?

Oh yes! That would prove that he had a claim on superiority. 

First he needed to know what they feared though, what they desired… any crack in the armor of their belief and faith in the inferior organics. 

The medic was pitifully easy to pick apart. He wanted closeness and he feared closeness, having lost everyone he cared about and more of his charges than he wanted to remember. He hated feeling helpless. 

The annoying yellow minibot was almost as easy, his confident actions a thin veneer over a deep chasm of insecurity and fear. He feared being forgotten, being nothing… and he desired to be known as a hero. 

Pathetic. 

Bulkhead… Soundwave wished it would be a good idea to just deactivate his rival. This was the mech who had chosen weak organics over him, over their own kin! But no… no, he had to correct that thinking that would be revenge enough. It would be! 

The green mech feared few things really, too used to his size being able to save the orn. He did fear for his team members, for that disgusting organic pet, Sari. His desires though, to be recognized for his abilities, to be graceful, to be seen as something more than a bumbling fool…

And the little ninja mech… control was everything to him and he feared losing it. Control over himself, of a situation, of destiny. And yet deep down he wanted to lose it, wanted to be without responsibility at least for some things. An enigma, and rather pathetic in Soundwave’s estimation. 

When he finally reached the leader he was surprised to find him twitching slightly in his sleep, small sounds breaking free of his vocalizer. He checked that he was still under, he was… even deeper than the others. 

So he went in slower, more careful, not to provoke dreams but to see them happen. 

The scene he came to could have been a nightmare or a dream, he did not know yet. Everything was dark except for where two mechs were battling? No… not battling. The larger of the two was on top of the other, hips moving in a steady rhythm to the cries of the smaller mech under him.

Or maybe the cries were in rhythm with the moving hips? 

He ‘moved’ closer and had to force his systems to calm before he pulled both himself and the Autobot out of the dream. 

Megatron… and the Autobot leader. Megatron was driving something into the mech, and Optimus did not seem like he entirely hated it. though he was begging for the bigger mech to stop.

_“Please don’t, please! Megatron… p-please,”_ the frantic begging was punctuated by sounds of pure enjoyment, moans and whimpers… The thing being driven into the Autobot was big, thick and made wet squelching noises, but the liquid it was moving in was not energon. It did not glow, though it was a very pale lilac in color.

He startled when the Megatron suddenly spoke, the deep voice dead accurate though infused with a pleasure that Soundwave had never heard. He was mostly sure that Optimus had not heard it either… 

_“Why, little Prime? You are enjoying this… and when I have taken you over enough times, you will be mine,”_ ‘taken?’ Soundwave wondered what that meant, well obviously it had to do with this strange act but… why would it make the Prime Megatron’s? Why was the mech dreaming about this act? It did not have the feeling of fear on it, not only at least.

_“No, no!”_

_“Yes, oh yes, little Prime, I can already see you changing,”_ it was true now that his attention had been drawn to it he could see dark colors creeping up the Prime’s plating. Red became purple, white black and blue a very dark gray not unlike the pewter of Megatron’s armor. 

As he watched the colors crept higher, the Prime’s vocal denials weakened. He moved and bucked, withered and moaned. Screamed at times, chassis slowly being taken over by the darkness. But he was not in pain, that much was clear… whatever this was the mech was enjoying it, a lot. Despite his by now feeble protests. 

Soon there was only one spot of brightness left, right over the spark chamber. Megatron began prying at the seam on the chest and the Prime’s protesting revived a little. Soundwave was intrigued, but just as light spilled out the world twisted, melted and ran.

He again thought that the mech was waking up until he managed to reorient himself. 

This time the dream was full of light, they were in an airy berth room with large open windows decorated with light flowing fabric. 

Megatron was the one on his back now… and Optimus was a lot more enthusiastic in his sounds. 

The big berth had four posts one at each corner and Megatron was tied securely to them. He did not seem to mind that too much though, and neither mech was changing color. But the Prime was… bouncing? Yes, bouncing atop the same anatomical part that Megatron had penetrated with him in the other dream. 

_“Yes, yes!”_ the cry heralded the tossing back of the blue helmet, lithe chassis arching and grinding down. Lilac fluids gushed out around the hard pole like invader… and for the first time he noticed that the Prime had the same pole like thing, jutting from just above where Megatron’s pole was penetrating his chassis. Along with the fluid from around Megatron’s… appendage, silver viscous fluid shot from the smaller appendage to splatter across Megatron’s plating. It was fascinatingly obvious against the dark pewter plating.

_“Yesss, Optimus, please keep moving,”_ the pewter chassis moved up, eager to continue and the Prime slowly, sluggishly, began moving again.

Soundwave found himself almost too fascinated to try and steer the dreams into a, for him, presumably more productive avenue. 

And…

Maybe he could use this somehow?

* * *

“And why should I welcome a traitor?” Megatron had not risen from his throne but the red optics was narrowed dangerously and Soundwave had to fight to keep his trembling contained. 

“Soundwave, not a traitor,” 

“Oh… as I recall you promised me your service twice, the second time you promised me the Autobots as my obedient slaves! And yet here we are, and I see no Autobots…” Megatron gestured and Soundwave felt like curling up. It was true, he had failed utterly at his self appointed objective. 

“Soundwave, _not_ a traitor!” he emphasized, “Soundwave, failed at objective… but brought vital information. Fears, terrors… wants. Offer them to lord Megatron?” he was unsure how much they were worth to Megatron but as it was all he had there was nothing else he could do.

“Hmm… fears and wants?” his cooling systems stalled and Soundwave felt a touch of fear. He was superior! He should not fear anything… but if he feared Megatron? 

The mech was superior to him, was he not? Should he not serve him then, him and the cause of his Decepticons? 

“My lord,” he stepped back slowly, till he could reach a console that had a screen attached where he plugged in. all the while keeping his optics on the impatient warlord, and the weapon he so casually wore on his right arm. 

_“Please don’t, please! Megatron… p-please,”_ he did not speak or turn his helmet when sounds started pouring from the consol, knowing what he would see, hoping it would not enrage the pewter mech. 

“Soundwave, observed these defragmentation files in the offline Prime,” Megatron did not react to his words and he fell silent, watching the large mech lean back in his throne. The red optics had darkened considerably and the thin dermas were no longer frowning but rather pressing together. 

_“Why, little Prime? You are enjoying this… and when I have taken you over enough times, you will be mine,”_ Megatron raised an optical ridge and Soundwave had to fight not to flinch. 

_“No, no!”_ this prompted a smile, thin and sharp. He cut the scene and called up the other, though he knew that Megatron would likely not like the idea of being… well, he would see. The frown was back immediately but it did not seem… quite as displeased as the previous frown.

_“Yes, yes!”_ he did take a step back now, the pewter chassis abruptly leaning forward to watch the screen intently, dermas curling in something that he was not sure what a smile. There was such a look of… hunger in the now near black optics. 

_“Yesss, Optimus, please keep moving,”_ even his own begging it not seem to displease the warlord, but he did signal for it to be cut. Soundwave did so, but hesitated about unplugging. 

“Does my lord wish to see something of the rest of them?” it was all he could think of asking, unsure what to do with the powerful mech and the look he was being given. Weighed, dissected… and ultimately dismissed? He was not sure… 

“No, transfer your files to the computer, encrypt the files from the Prime to my access only and find yourself a place to stay. You have done very well, Soundwave, perhaps you will keep up the good work in the future,” he shivered and bowed his helmet. Yes, dismissed, and given another thing to do. He did not understand it and did not want to ask.

At least here he could go look though the computer archives, find out what it was he had not understood in the Autobots processors. 

Especially what it was the Prime had been dreaming about.

* * *

So the little Prime dreamt of interfacing with him? Had nightmares about it? Maybe both the snippets he had seen had been nightmares but he doubted it, they had been too different, but he would see now.

Keying the encrypted file up he set to watch it and found to his delight that there was far more to both scenes than he had been shown. In fact there were more scenes! Some of it was purely fantasy, and the Prime seemed to have an active one, others were based on real events. 

Like the one he was watching now…

_“You have not won! As long as ~mffhhm,”_ the ball gag was almost too big for the small Prime, stretching his dermas wide. In reality Megatron took his spike in hand and wondered if those pouty, perfect lips would look the same wrapped around it as they looked on the screen around the black rubber ball. 

All in all the Prime had a good imagination, and seemed to have a penance for thinking him very well endowed. Well, he was, so no harm there. Megatron smirked to himself and watched as his dream self untied the grapplers from his captive and tied him up with silver chains instead. He stroked his spike lazily waiting for… well, the juicy part to begin. 

Funny that he had thought of something similar when he had been about to throw the Prime though the spacebridge. That if the little thing survived it maybe he should have some fun with him, when it was all over. 

Not quite on this level though.

_“You are in the tower of the council, the apartment of the late senator Silverstorm. Spread out on his berth… for me, which part of that do you think counts as a non victory?”_ his dream self smirked and tapped the ball gag, _“I could almost want to hear your answer, but I am tired of your rhetoric. I am not removing this till I will only hear pleads for more. Or unless I want to block your vocalizer with something that is more… pleasurable for me,”_ the back panel slid back and his dream self’s spike pressurized.

Slower than any natural spike would but Megatron did not mind, this was delicious… those innocent blue optics widening with fear. He wanted to see it in reality, not just in this dream, this nightmare. 

_“I have not won you yet, I will give you that… but I will, I intend to conquer you,”_ the blue panel between the captive Autobot’s legs was stroked almost lovingly for a moment, before black digits pried it open. Muffled sounds heralded screaming behind the obscenely large gag. But when the panel finally gave way and slid back lubricant gushed and the valve was obviously primed for use already.

_“Why Optimus? And here I thought that it was just anger that made you heat during our battles?”_ his own dark voice laughed from the screen. 

Megatron stopped the recording and sat back, hand still idly stroking his spike. Immediate overload was no longer on his mind though, instead he was reviewing previous battles where he had grappled with the Autobot prime. 

Optimus… 

It was true, in battle the smaller mech’s armor was always overly hot. Temperature spiking whenever he managed to pin him down or otherwise incapacitate him. It had been like that from the very beginning. 

He had always chalked it down to the mech being angry and afraid, systems overheating from the mix of feelings and the exertion of battling itself.

What if it was not so? What if this avatar of him was speaking the truth… what if this was not just nightmares and dreams but a manifestation of want, need and frustrated lust?

The thought pleased him, made his hand speed up a little without his even thinking about doing it. Even as he groaned thickly from the physical stimulation his mind was off on calculations of how to test this theory… and how to do it in a manner that would end with the little Auto-, no the little mech, under him moaning in pure pleasure. 

The Prime was no longer that, no longer an Autobot… he was to be his, processor, spark and chassis! His concubine, his lover, his mate and his most loyal follower. 

The thought alone made him peak, overload charge crawling though his chassis with a sense of accomplishment he rarely felt anymore.

This was a new battlefield, a new thing to conquer and make his. A new cause to fight for. It would not interfere with his main goals of course, as it should not, but with the little, former, Prime at his side he would have a new weapon, one potentially close to the Magnus.

* * *

“Autobot,” he grinned at the smaller mech, knowing he would get some answers in the coming fight. You could even say a reassurance… though he did believe the intelligence Soundwave had brought. It was impossible to create that level of fantasizing out of nothing, and it had been made clear very quickly that Soundwave had not even understood what went on in the defragmentation dreams. 

“I have a name!” the snap was almost automatic, a well rehearsed comeback that the young Prime did not even need to think about anymore. 

The slim chassis was tense; shoulders squared proudly and chin up defiantly. Dermas parted just the slightest bit, he could well imagine the silver glossa tip poking out to wet the pliant plates…

Blue optics shone with determination and confidence, but they were just a tiny bit darker than they should be… 

For every moment silence reined the Autobot wound tighter, it was a delicious sight. One that made him try and imagine how the mech might respond to delayed overload. He sprang into action before he could get himself too hot. 

This time his fighting style was a lot different than usual though, he was trying to get in close, to get his hands on the other. Not using swords, or his fusion cannon. It was clearly unnerving the Prime, who was soon caught in a catch/evade cycle that seemed more like a hunt than a fight. Megatron did not care for he did manage to crop a feel several times, letting the Autobot run just for the pleasure of feeling how his temperature had risen the next time he managed to get a touch in. 

“What are you doing!” the edge to the tone could almost be called a moan, but it was well held in check. 

“Why, fighting you, of course… as we always do,” Megatron smirked, voice a dark teasing purr. Delighted that the mech had recognized the change, if not the cause of it or had he guessed what Soundwave had done, feared it perhaps… The idea of the mech fearing for his dirty secret was potent, powerfully exciting. 

“You are taunting me, playing with me… not fighting,” ‘and you like it’, Megatron added for him in his own processor. The blue optics was so dark now, the chassis so hot… He wondered if he could get the mech to open his panel if he touched him just right. But not this orn. 

“Of course I am, a mech like you… it would be a shame to damage you unnecessary,” he looked the other up and down, lewdly licking his dermas, relishing in the shocked hungry look he received in return. Good enough for now, they had what they had come for and he was sure Optimus Prime had things to think about now.

“Till next time, Autobot!” he launched into the air, laughing when he heard a faint frustrated shout of ‘I have a name’ following him.

* * *

Megatron was making him nervous. That was technically nothing new, but there was… something new in the way they interacted. The powerful Decepticon was becoming quite hands on, less likely to use his swords or his fusion canon. 

And the things he said! 

Just the other day they had been grappling, because the larger mech had once again refused to draw weapons, and the mech had closed his hand over his left shine, yanking him off his pedes.

That was not the problem, the problem had been that he had actually paused instead of following up on the move and then said ‘You look nice like this’. 

‘You look nice like this’… 

What did that even mean? He had been on his back, armor covered in splatters of mud and slick with rain. Nothing good about that, nothing _nice_ about that. 

But the look and smile that had accompanied the words, Primus! That had ignited him, so much so that the rain almost evaporated from his armor. It was his luck that it still fell in a cold torrent or he would have given himself away then and there. 

Optimus was not stupid, he was young and in many ways innocent despite the disturbing dreams he continued to have about his nemesis. But not stupid, something was up… something had changed and he feared he knew what, though he had no idea how. He would have suspected Soundwave except the mech had been defeated and destroyed. 

Right?

He was beginning to doubt it, which was rather an unpleasant thought. The young Allspark creation had been in their processors and there was no telling what secrets he had taken with him out. 

Especially considering what secret it seemed had been taken from his processor. 

Of course it could also simply be that he had manage to give himself away to the older mech all on his own. Megatron was very old, reasoning that out he must have had plenty of lovers and plenty experience with sussing out who was interested and who was not. 

Actually that thought was about as calming as the idea of Soundwave having been rumoring around in his memory cores. 

It also made him feel terribly young and vulnerable. Neither feeling made him very confident about having to battle with the Decepticon leader in the future. Unfortunately he had little choice; it was not a ‘job’ he could quit from. 

\---

“So tense, little Autobot,” Optimus gritted his dentals and lashed out only to have the larger mech not be where he thought he would be, “it makes you clumsy; you should relax… flow with the tide of battle. Loosen up!” a smack to his aft made him growl sub vocally. 

“I don’t need advice!” which was not entirely true but it was just too surreal to get it from Megatron in the middle of a battle. 

“Everyone needs guidance, Autobot, even I know when to take advice,” the taunt made him snort; he could not imagine Megatron taking advice from anyone. It just did not seem like the mech would accept being corrected. 

“I find that hard to believe,” deploying his grapplers he tried to yank Megatron’s pedes out from under him, only to find himself yanked close to the broad grey chest plating. 

“You really should stop using these, Autobot,” large black hands wrapped his hands up in his own weapon, “after all you are the one that always ends up tied up in them.” 

That was far truer than Optimus wanted to think about but all he could manage in protest was to try and yank free and snarl a much belated, and repeated, “I have a name!”

* * *

“Yes, you do, and it is a nice name… but I like seeing how your temper flares in your pretty optics when I don’t use it!” Megatron purred thickly, keeping the small mech close a hand wrapped around the tightly bound wrists. 

Those blue optics widening in confused panic, the heat of the slim chassis unwillingly pressed against him. It was not just in his dreams that Optimus wanted him, though the Autobot was in no way willing to admit that out loud, or even to himself. 

Such a shame, he would not mind taking him right here and now. But… yes, there was pleasure to be found in toying and taunting too, pleasure he was not ready to do without. Just as Optimus was not ready to give in, not even semi willingly. 

“You are…” the angry words spluttered into meaningless noises as the smaller mech tried to wrestle free and find an appropriate label at the same time. It was hot in more ways than one, he was sure there were lots of names the autobot would not mind calling him but that his inert politeness prevented him from using. 

“I’m sure I am, but now I fear our time is up,” letting go abruptly he winked one optic on and offline at the stunned mech sitting in the dust. Very delectable, though there had been something about that time where rain and mud had been sliding down the brightly colored armor… 

He grinned, leaving his nemesis behind tied up in the dust, hoping he had kindled more confused, hot, dreams in him.

\---

_“What is happening to me?”_ the voice was slurred and heavy with need, but still recognizable as belonging to the little Prime. On screen the small mech ran his hands down his own frame, towards his open panel and the lubricant that leaked out unprovoked. Dimmed optics moved to stare up at an unseen mech. 

_”Your heat, little Prime, are you so young as to have never experienced that?”_ his own voice was anticipatory, predatory, from the dream him. Megatron smiled, the fingers of one hand drumming on his thigh as he watched yet another dream unfold. 

The Prime shook his head, fingers delving into the overflowing valve with frantic desperate movements. The angle shifted and he could now see them both, as his dream clone knelt down and added a finger of his own to the open valve. 

_“It’s something we all go though, little Prime, it makes us able to carry young… the gift of the Allspark,”_ sexy as it was he had to wonder where that idea came from, there was no Heat, though it was true that exposure to the Allspark could enable a mech to carry a sparkling. A rather enticing thought, now that he remembered it! 

_”C-carry young?”_ on screen the young mech parroted his dream clone’s words, dim optics flaring white. 

Abruptly the images shifted, the small mech now on a berth his abdominal and pelvic armor gone and the protoform there unnaturally bulgy. He was still there, one large hand splayed over the bulging protoform armor and the other still, again, working in the valve… this time on its own. 

_”So beautiful, carrying my heir,”_ the dark croon earned him a low moan, the smaller mech turning his helm away. Ah, the little autobot had some strange ideas about carrying a sparkling, but he looked hot like that, armorless and helpless under his own armored bulk. Enticing indeed, perhaps he should look into having the mech’s armor removed when he was finally his? 

_”Not beautiful,”_ his own laughter rolled from the speakers and his dream clone bend to kiss the distended protoform armor before he shifted to lift the autobot’s aft onto his legs, spike sliding out smoothly. 

_”Always beautiful, Optimus, and mine, **all** mine!”_ he fisted his real spike even as his dream clone slid into the smaller mech, making him cry out and arch as much as his bulging armor allowed him to. It was surprisingly erotic to watch; the clearly organic inspired way of carrying had an oddly attractive helplessness over it. Something that stirred his already aroused possessiveness further in reality as it seemed to do to his dream clone.   
Nothing more was said, at least nothing coherent but it did not make the dream any less interesting. The little Prime had a fantastic imagination, something that made him doubt he was a complete virgin, sadly enough. Innocent yes, but not inexperienced. 

It was no feat to overload to the erotic images and no hardship to watch the dream to its end after, spike twitching with interest and lust barely sated by the hand job.

* * *

“Uhh,” he shivered and turned over in the berth, trying to banish the heat the battle of this earth day had brought. Megatron had been his new usual enigmatic self, touching too much, coming with cryptic remarks and advice on his fighting skills. Optimus was sure there was something going on but he really did not want to think too much about it. 

If the tyrant knew of his… infatuation he would surely take advantage of it, right? Use it to win battles, or to try and turn him to his cause. But Megatron seem wholly uninterested in that, all he did was tease and offer advice. 

And touch. 

Thinking about it helped little with the heat in his chassis, or the ghostly sensations still lingering where Megatron’s hands and fingers had rested, however briefly. 

It was like an infection, like rust spreading from the mech’s touch. Only feeling good, hot… almost liquid like. And the itch was behind his panel, not in the trails of heat. 

Maybe if he thought of something else for a while? Or… or someone else? But it would have to be someone big, or it would not work. There was one problem with that, the only big mechs he ‘knew’ enough to fantasize about were Decepticons. 

Wait… no, actually. 

Heat rose in his cheek plating, guilt warring with need for a short moment before he offlined his optics and stroked his own chest. 

_Ultra Magnus smirked down at him, large hands outlining every seam of his chest, toying with the flimsy metal panels in his grill._

It was hard to imagine the Autobot commander smirk, not to mention touching him in any manner but a brief clap to his shoulder. The mech was a living legend but he had never been much for physical contact. Optimus did his best though, and he did manage to get off… at least enough to go into recharge. 

But it was not easy recharge.

_The hands on him where large and warm, exploring his back plating with careful attention to even the smallest detail as they traveled down wards. Down to where he really wanted them to be…_

_His lover too his time and Optimus was a whining mess when a finger finally slipped into his valve, and by then one finger was not enough at all._

_“Please!” he broke enough to beg, knowing that it might get him what he needed so badly._

_This time it worked and a second finger slipped in, both pumping in a slow rhythm, pressing against his slick walls to grant his charged nodes some relief. It felt so good, too good and not good enough. He knew it could be better, would be better._

_“More, more!” the large mech shifted, the fingers leaving his valve with wet squelching sound, only to be substituted with something far bigger. He cried out and clawed at the berth surface as he was penetrated agonizingly slowly._

_“Ah, Prime, such a tight little mech you are!” the voice made him whimper, but he could do nothing but look up when his helm was guided back. His optics focused dimly on a group of mechs watching him intently._

_His friends? And…_

_Ultra Magnus?_

“NO!” he sat up, aware that his spike was out and his berth wet with lubricant. His chassis hot, needy… again. And it was Megatron, always Megatron, which filled his processor, his dreams. Putting a shaking hand over his optics he groaned, knowing that nothing would help his state now but finishing what his dream had started. 

Faking fantasizing about Ultra Magnus would do little for him… 

Optimus bit his lower derma and shivered hard. Why him? 

Why Megatron!

* * *

It had taken some work, and no little credits spent, but Swindle had been able to deliver via Shockwave. 

One comm. code to one Autobot Prime. 

Megatron toyed with the data pad the code was on, he had had it for a while now but had refrained from using it. Sticking to taunting the little Autobot in battles, getting him hot and bothered only to leave him before it got too far. 

If he had simply wanted to humiliate him… well, that would have been so very easy. But he was not, no, knowing that the mech wanted him despite everything that said he should not? It was one of the most powerfully arousing things he had ever experienced. Not to mention that the young Prime was vitality and beauty impersonated. Who wouldn’t want him? Megatron had no intention of fooling himself into believing he didn’t, he knew he did. 

-Autobot,- because that always worked to coax out a response. 

-I have a name!- the snap was slurred, tired sounding and he gussed that he had woken the young Prime from recharge. Good… 

-Wait… how do you have my comm. code?- still slurred, somewhat panicked and a lot confused. 

-I have my sources, little Autobot,- he finally purred back, teasingly though that was only a little part of what he put in his tone. 

-Do you know how hard it is to change a personal comm. code!- oh yes, defiantly sleepy, and sounding rather insulted too. Undeniably cute, he wished he could see him right then, looking all miffed as he sprawled out over his lonely berth. 

-How about you not change it then? Just a friendly suggestion… I will manage to get your new code too, eventually,- he still purred, lacing his tone with arousal as much as he dared. It was true though, just this small taste of talking to the sleepy Optimus had him hooked. The mech was too cute for his own good… who had ever thought it a good idea to make him a warrior? He belonged in someone’s berth, being pampered and spoiled. 

Hmm, and if he ever told him that he would likely have to dudge that axe he liked to wield. 

Not a bad thought at all. 

-You are incorrigible, I am going back to recharge,- the click of the comm. line closing just widened his smile. Clearly the mech was too sleepy to realize what had happned, it would be interesting to see if he kept his comm. code or not…

* * *

-Get off my comm.- the line clicked for the third time that earth evening. Megatron rested his head on his fist and grinned at nothing. 

-Oh Autobot, I still have your comm. code you know,- this was almost better than being in a battle with the lithe mech. Almost, if he had been able to see him too it would have made up for not being able to touch him. 

-Why do you persist in annoying me? Isn’t it enough to pester me during battles?- oh Primus, he had managed to frag him off… finally! The mech sounded a good deal more awake this time, but he had purposefully called him earlier this day than he usually did. 

-Because I enjoy the sound of your voice, Optimus,- the uncharacteristic use of his name granted Megatron a long moment of silence. Or perhaps it was the tone the whole sentence was delivered with. Well, he had wanted to turn this up a notch.

-Just as I enjoy touching your chassis when we battle,- he dimmed his optics, licking his dermas, -I quite enjoyed our little tryst today, the feeling of how hot your plating became. And I even try to keep my caresses innocent.- 

The comm. clicked close again and he laughed, a deep slightly raspy sound full of arousal. No matter what he knew he was getting to the little Prime. Soon…

* * *

-Megatron?- he should not be making this call. Optimus cringed by he did not close the comm. line. he’d woken again, in the middle of the dark cycle, Megatron’s touch still feeling like it was ghosting over his chassis thanks to the dream he had just had. 

-Mmm Optimus?- the voice was thick with recharge and purr alike. How come he sounded so damned pleased to be woken in the middle of a cycle? Couldn’t he just be a Decepticon like he should be? 

Couldn’t he just close down the comm. line like he should? Get his personal code changed… 

-What is it, little Prime?- he groaned and hid his head in his hands. Way too late. Squirming he tried to find a somewhat comfortable way of lying. Not that anything was comfortable when aroused like this. 

-Nothing… just…- bad idea! Such a bad idea, and now he was stuck with it. If he could just make Megatron talk, just keep him talking. He closed his hand over his spike and bit his lower derma to stifle a moan. 

-You call me in the middle of the dark cycle, for nothing? I hardly believe that, little Prime…- Megatron really had no business owning a voice that sounded like that! Deep and purry, rough but so sexy it could kill. 

-But I can guess what is going on, after all you’re protesting…- a small sound left Optimus at that, a helpless noise at having his worst fears, and recently his greatest dream, confirmed. 

-Are you touching yourself, Optimus?- he could not keep an affirmative at bay, didn’t _want_ to! 

-Good, good… you want to get off, am I right? So it’s your spike, you are fisting it, stroking it,- he whined hating, loving, that Megatron knew what he was doing, was so good at this. 

Whatever this was. 

-Wishing it was me, my hand covering your hard spike, my fingers teasing you… that I was there to use my other hand on your slick little valve?- embarrassingly that was more than enough to make his charge crest. Crying out Optimus arched up from the berth as hot fluid splattered over his chest and abdominal plating. 

-Recharge well, little Prime,- he was glad that there was no amusement in the dark voice, only a thick purr. The comm. line clicked close before he could say anything… then again? What would he have said…

* * *

“Optimus,” the croon was right in his audio and he stiffened further, trying not to melt against the dark chassis he was pressed against. Yet another battle, and somehow Megatron had managed to lure him away from the open and his team. “Such a bad little mechling, Optimus, what would your esteemed Magnus think if he found out what you have been doing lately?”

“You, ngh, started it!” but it was a feeble protest. Megatron might have started the comm. calls, maybe even all of this madness in a way, but he was the one who had escalated those late at dark cycle calls. 

“Oh I can take the blame for some of it, if you want me to,” hands shifted, drifted down and he could not help but relax, melt. Primus… “But not all of it, you have your own dreams to thank for most of this, don’t you, Optimus?” 

Yes, his dreams, his chassis… his damn imagination! 

“This was not supposed to happen!” it burst out as Megatron’s hand dipped low enough to caress his crotch plating, the interface panel snapping back without his conscious thought.


End file.
